Chapter 29
Izzy offered to help Sam with the equipment he needed to take to the Danvers place for the photo shoot. Nell offered to go along, too. Izzy shouldn’t be carrying anything too heavy, she said.
“Neither of you fools me for one New York second. You want to see what’s behind that stone wall.” Sam idled the car as the heavy iron gate to the Danvers estate slowly swung open.
Franklin Danvers was waiting in the drive, dressed in a three-piece suit and an elegant silk tie. His surprise at Sam’s crew was evident on his face, but he said little, ushering them into the home. He was polite but unsmiling, serious and businesslike, and lacking the more relaxed personality they’d seen recently. He seemed preoccupied.
Tamara sat on a chair in the entryway and stood when they walked in. She wore tight black slacks and a silk flowered top that billowed out when she walked, outlining the sleek body beneath. She smiled and greeted them warmly. “Sam, you’re kind to do this. It will mean a lot to all the Danverses, as well as to the town. This is a magnificent manor.”
Beside her, Franklin simply nodded and ushered them all into a walnut-paneled library, where he handed Sam a map of the house and several documents on the art and furniture. He had highlighted the rooms and objects appropriate for photographing. Izzy took the papers and began leafing through them as Sam took out one of his cameras and snapped a few shots for practice.
“Beautiful library,” he said to Franklin, his eye coveting the plethora of collections. On one wall they ranged from the classics to finance to management. Another was filled with history books, and there was a section on hunting, scuba diving, sailing, and deep-sea fishing manuals. A third wall held tools of the trade—a magnificent mounted bow and arrow, a glass case of guns and fishing knives, and a magnificent mounted flounder on a polished teak board. “I suspect you’re a man who rarely gets bored.”
“No. Not usually, although I have little time for most of these things now. Borrow any books you want,” Franklin said. He looked over at one shelf, frowned, then walked over to a shelf of scuba diving books and pushed the books closer to fill an empty space.
Franklin Danvers was a perfectionist. Nell smiled, wondering what he’d think of Ben’s library—every shelf filled with books of different shape, size, and subject matter. Some piled on top of each other.
Franklin led them to the back of the house first, then through leaded glass doors, out to a terrace that seemed to sweep around the entire back and sides of the house. A manicured lawn separated it from wide flagstone steps leading down to the beach. Several other homes, smaller in size but elegant in appearance, were visible off to the sides, discreetly separated from the main house by manicured gardens and walkways.
But it was the view that took their breath away.
“Amazing,” Izzy said, her breath catching as she looked out over the water. In one direction, the skyline of Boston was a hazy landscape, and closer in, the long, winding shoreline, like a serpent’s tail—Paley’s Cove, the artists’ colony, Anya Angelina Park. Nell walked over to the edge and looked to the right, out over the beach where they’d first met Red, where Horace Stevenson’s house was tucked off to the side.
Franklin was standing slightly apart from them, looking out over the water and Paley’s Cove as if it were the first time he’d seen the view. Nell thought about going over to talk to him, but it was clear he was caught up in his own world—an interruption would be an intrusion. Perhaps he was thinking about business problems or had regretted his idea of a photo shoot of his home, but whatever the reason, the looser, more relaxed Franklin they’d seen in recent days was definitely not present today.
“Maybe we will host a Gatsby-like party when the pictures are framed,” Tamara said. “We’ll frame your original photographs and display them.” She looked around for Franklin, spotted him near the edge of the veranda, and motioned to him. “Come, darling, let’s start with a photograph of the two of us, right here on our magnificent terrace.”
Franklin frowned, and Nell looked over at Sam. It wasn’t exactly the kind of photo Sam was expecting to take, but it probably made sense to have a shot of the people who actually lived in the house. And then they’d move to the dozens of grand rooms that made the Danvers estate a Sea Harbor landmark.
It took Sam a little over two hours to move through the entire house, his practiced eye immediately zeroing in on the best light, the perfect angle, and the things that would be of interest to an audience who cared about history.
When he was finished inside, they walked outside again and down to the beach, where Sam set his camera on another tripod and focused it back up at the house, a giant silhouette against the blue sky.
“What’s that?” Izzy asked, pointing to a heavy wooden door that appeared to be built right into the granite foundation at beach level.
“A servants’ entrance,” Tamara said. “In earlier times the servants used it to come to a corner of the beach reserved for them. Their beach was around those boulders.” When they walked around to the other side of the granite wall, Nell recognized the spot immediately, although from this angle it looked different than it did from Paley’s Beach.
“It’s the dive spot,” Sam said, surprised. It had looked different to him, too. He pointed to a small building, once a boathouse, that blended into the rocks. “And there’s the dive shack, as we call it.”
“But nothing you want photographs of,” Franklin Danvers said, surprising them as he rejoined the group. He’d come out the thick wooden door built into the foundation of the house. “The police did their share of that. I may tear it down and build a new one.”
“The new paint job was a good idea,” Sam said. “It’s generous of you to let the dive club use the place.”
“I enjoy diving, that’s all. It’s a good place to teach it.”
“Tamara mentioned you might be going on a dive this summer—someplace a little more exotic,” Izzy said.
Franklin frowned, then shrugged, as if he had far more important things on his mind than taking Tamara on a trip. He looked as if he was about to say something, then seemed to change his mind and instead said to Sam, “I understand they have finally found the murderer.”
Tamara edged closer to her husband. Her eyes were wide. “What?”
“That’s not true, Franklin,” Sam said. “They have some new leads.”
“Dr. Seltzer,” Franklin said, ignoring Sam’s assessment, his voice cold, strained. “It’s shocking to think there was a murderer roaming around in that clinic. Someone we spoke with, got advice from.”
“Dr. Martin . . . ?” Tamara said, her words trailing off as she struggled to process the information. “But . . .”
“He hasn’t been accused of anything,” Nell said. “They’ve learned a little more about Justin’s activities, but they have not arrested Dr. Seltzer.”
The news of Martin Seltzer’s secret garden and Justin’s connection to it hadn’t hit the papers yet. Ben said Jerry Thompson was going to try to hold it back—at least until they had more information. But Franklin Danvers was a different breed. Nell suspected there was little in Sea Harbor he didn’t know about. She watched his face, cold and accusatory now.
Tamara moved closer to her husband. “Dr. Seltzer . . . killed Justin? That’s awful.”
Tamara held tight to Franklin’s arm, the news of Martin Seltzer clearly a surprise to her.
“As Nell said,” Sam repeated, “he hasn’t been accused of killing anyone. It would be wrong and destructive for that rumor to get around before the police have done their work.”
“What kinds of activities was Justin involved in?” Tamara asked again. She looked frightened.
No one answered and Tamara looked at Franklin, as if he would surely know.
Franklin was silent.
“The news about the clinic might worry you, Tamara, but don’t let it,” Izzy said. “It’s a very safe place to go. There’s no reason any of this should affect Dr. Lily’s patients. She’s a wonderful obstetrician, the very best. You and I are both in good hands.”
Izzy’s words were met with silence.
Tamara’s eyes were still on Franklin, watching him carefully as if waiting for instructions.
“We have little need for that clinic now,” Franklin said. His words were clipped, precise.
Tamara frowned. “But, Franklin—”
“No,” he said, stopping her words.
They all looked at him.
“Tamara is no longer pregnant,” he said. Then turned and walked away.